


like a knight from an old-fashioned book

by LymeandCoconut



Series: canon, but slightly to the left [2]
Category: Good Omens (TV), Good Omens - Neil Gaiman & Terry Pratchett
Genre: Angst, Aziraphale Has a Penis (Good Omens), Crowley Has A Vulva (Good Omens), F/M, Humor, Sexual Content, Vaginal Sex, no actual knights were eaten during the writing of this fic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-12
Updated: 2020-05-12
Packaged: 2021-03-02 17:28:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,396
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24120592
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LymeandCoconut/pseuds/LymeandCoconut
Summary: “Fear not, fair maiden!” Sir Aziraphale of the Round Table clanked loudly into the highmost room of the forbidden tower. “I am here to rescue y- oh, for fuck’s sake.”“Took you long enough.”
Relationships: Aziraphale/Crowley (Good Omens)
Series: canon, but slightly to the left [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1605481
Comments: 16
Kudos: 209





	like a knight from an old-fashioned book

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so, so much to everyone who commented and kudos'd my first fic, your warm reception made me so happy and made this sequel happen. I was planning on just writing a silly oneshot, but here I am with a vague plot and everything. It will probably take me a long time to finish it, but I had a lot of fun writing this and I hope you all enjoy it too. 
> 
> Title is taken from Bird On A Wire by Leonard Cohen, but I prefer the version by Joe Bonamassa.

“Fear not, fair maiden!” Sir Aziraphale of the Round Table clanked loudly into the highmost room of the forbidden tower. “I am here to rescue y- oh, for _fuck’s_ sake.”

“Took you long enough.” Crowley snapped shut the book she’d been skimming for the past forty-five minutes, ever since the angel had first entered the tower. When she’d assembled a library of books and scrolls rare enough to entice Aziraphale on this particular quest, she hadn’t foreseen having to _wait_ all this time. 

The past year of languishing in this blessed monolith, elegantly appointed as it might be, had passed like wet sand through an hourglass. Taking the scenic route up the stairs was just rude after _all_ the trouble Crowley had went through to get him here. 

“But the drago- _oooooohhh!_ ” Aziraphale pointed wildly. “You - you _ate_ Sir Bedivere!”

Crowley sucked on her teeth. “Distasteful man. Gristly.” 

The angel gawped from beneath his shiny silver visor. “ _Why_ ,” was apparently all he could get out.

Pouring onto her feet in a river of black silk and knee-length red waves, Crowley fisted her hands on her hips and saddled Aziraphale with a glare. “You’ve been avoiding me.”

Creaking, Aziraphale summoned a thick measure of righteous indignation. “I have _no_ idea what you’re tal-”

“I arrayed myself in gleaming armor,” Crowley interrupted, stalking forward on hips that swayed even more than normal, “I made a dramatic entrance as the infamous _Black Knight_ , and _you_.” Crowley stuck her finger in the angel’s face. “Did not even _try_ to suck my cock.”

Aziraphale managed to look scandalized and guilty all at once. “I - must you - I really - wait,” he said abruptly. “You _planned_ that?”

“Of _course_ I planned it!” Crowley threw her arms in the air. “We’ve never _accidentally_ bumped into each other our entire lives! I’m just skilled enough to make it look that way. _No_ ,” the demon exclaimed as Aziraphale started to get in a strop about that piece of information, “don’t change the subject! You’re avoiding the fact that you’ve been avoiding me.”

The angel was flushed with outrage and looking anywhere but Crowley’s eyes. “Really, my dear, I haven’t been… _avoiding_ you, it’s only-”

“Weren’t things good in Rome?” Crowley blurted out, in a far more soft and needy voice than she intended. _Bless_ this feminine body, it made the emotions so much more difficult to control. Just a moment ago she’d been yelling, now her throat felt tight and her lips were trying to tremble. Crowley swallowed, hard, and stared into the angel’s face. “Weren’t we… good?”

Aziraphale’s expression crumbled; his shoulders fell with a quiet squeak, and he seemed to deflate inside his armor. “Oh, darling,” he whispered. “Of course it was good. Those - those were the best years of my life.”

Crowley stubbornly folded her arms, clenched her jaw. “Then _why_ -”

“Because it’s _not safe_ ,” Aziraphale cried. He took a step forward, anguish plain on his face. “If they catch us, they’ll _torture_ us, and we’ll -” The angel’s chest heaved. “We’ll never see each other again, Crowley. _Never_.” 

“We were being careful,” Crowley argued, defiant. “We only saw each other once a decade, and we were _careful_. That was our agreement.” She pulled in a shuddering breath. “It’s been a century, Aziraphale. I haven’t seen you in a _hundred years_.”

“I _know_.” The angel squeezed his eyes shut, and as he turned away Crowley caught the gleam of a tear on his cheek. “Don’t you think I know how long it’s been? Not a day has gone by that I haven’t missed you, that I haven’t had to force myself not to go find you.”

Crowley was glad, then, that Aziraphale’s back was turned, and he didn’t see the selfish relief that covered her face, that had a fearful tension across her shoulders relaxing an inch. It was terrible of her, she knew it was, but nothing had hurt quite as much as the thought that perhaps Aziraphale hadn’t even noticed the years going by, that maybe he didn’t even think of her. She was cruelly happy to not be the only one suffering.

Quietly, Crowley went to where the angel stood at the window, laid a hand on one of his vambraces. “You are the only sun in my world, angel,” she said, soft and clear. “If you want to make it every two decades instead of one, or even three… alright.” The words nearly choked her, but she got them out. “But not - not _this_ , Aziraphale, please.”

She had never been too proud to beg, not when it came to him.

Crowley turned, slid her more petite body in front of the angel, pressed her gaze upon his face. He wouldn’t look at her. It was a hateful injustice that they were this close and she still couldn’t even touch him, could only lay pleading fingers on the metal suit usurping her place by molding and clinging to Aziraphale’s body. 

“I know it’s dangerous,” Crowley whispered. “I’m willing to take that risk.”

“ _I’m_ not,” Aziraphale finally said, and before the cracks could finish spider-webbing through her heart, eyes like the dawn sky lifted and looked straight into Crowley’s own. “Not with you.”

The demon swallowed painfully; Crowley couldn’t speak for a long moment. “So it’s just… it’s over, then?” A pair of tears broke past her defenses and escaped down her pale cheeks. Something inside her chest shrank, snapping closed like a clamshell and curling away from the scald of vulnerability.

Aziraphale hastily shook his head, his hands trying to flutter in their iron casings without much success. “ _No_ , no no, my dear, I’m not saying that. I only - it’s just that-” 

Crowley couldn’t bear to stand there and listen to the excuses, the dithering around that could never do anything to soften the blow, to make this feel any less like Aziraphale had just plunged his gauntlet through her chest. Shaking her head and dashing the wetness from her face, Crowley tore herself away and made for the door as quickly as possible without breaking into a humiliating run.

“Oh, _blast_ it,” she heard Aziraphale mutter, and then there was a quiet clanking sound, a quieter snap, and the mild change in air pressure that always proceeded a miracle.

Stride faltering, Crowley tossed a glance back over her shoulder; she couldn’t see clearly through the tears standing in her eyes, but what she saw looked a lot like an empty suit of armor where Aziraphale had just been standing.

She collided with something warm and surprisingly sturdy.

By the time Crowley whipped her head back around, gentle hands were clasping her upper arms and a familiar mouth was covering her own.

Her knees went weak the same as they had the first time Aziraphale kissed her, but Crowley put up a token resistance, made a sound of petty indignation in the back of her throat that, despite her obstinance, curled over and twisted into a helpless moan. The slick heat of Aziraphale’s tongue was pressing between her lips as the angel gathered her up in his arms, drew her into his chest, and Crowley went unresistingly - but made her surviving irritation clear by stomping on Aziraphale’s foot. 

Aziraphale grunted, muttered something that might have been ” _really_ , Crowley,” and prevented any further assaults on his feet by hauling the narrow length of the demon up into his arms. 

Groaning with barely-throttled desperation, Crowley wrapped her limbs around the angel like the snake she was, her hands like fangs sinking into Aziraphale’s soft flesh through his tunic. “ _Angel,_ ” she gasped against his mouth. Did this - she didn’t know what this meant, if this was one last time or if Aziraphale would break down and go back to the old agreement, if it was pity or love or just -

Whatever it was, whatever it meant, it had been a hundred years since she’d touched him, and she had no idea when she’d be allowed to touch him again.

Crowley had a hope chest full of tricks - all Aziraphale’s favorites, gleaned from poring over his body as the angel did one of his scrolls - that she wasn’t afraid to deploy, and if that was cheating, then she was all the happier to call it so. The moan she earned by burying her teeth in Aziraphale’s neck was _delicious_ , particularly when paired with those hands, so much stronger than anyone would guess, palming her (slightly rounder than usual, in this body) arse and squeezing. 

“Please,” Crowley whined. “ _Please_ , angel, I need-”

“Darling,” Aziraphale breathed against her ear. “Oh, my darling, I have missed you so.”

“Show me.” The demand was made with all ten fingers fisted in the angel’s dove-feather hair, Crowley’s eyes burning and wild as she stared down at him. “ _Show_ me, or I won’t believe you.”

Aziraphale blinked, clearly taken aback; he looked at her as if only in this moment realizing exactly what Crowley had been thinking, fearing, all this time. For an instant, there was nothing but heartbroken regret on that gentle face, swiftly transforming into resolve. 

Crowley didn’t know what was showing on her own face, but it got her what she wanted: herself laid down on the massive bed she’d created for this chamber, albeit a little more carefully than she’d like. But then Aziraphale was crawling over her, kissing her as deeply as she could ask, and sliding his hand beneath the hem of her dress until she cried out.

“Tell me what you need, my dear,” the angel murmured, a far more overwhelming temptation than any Crowley had ever put forth. His fingers moved persuasively. “Tell me, please.”

Crowley groaned deep in her chest, some indecipherable mixture of protest and encouragement. It hurt, prying her heart back open with her fingernails, fishing the truth out from between her clenched teeth and giving it out into the air, as naked and defenseless as a newborn. It _hurt_.

“Inside me,” Crowley whispered finally, dragging the words out with terrible effort. “Inside me, angel, please. I need-”

“Shh.” Aziraphale kissed her silent, soothed the bite of vulnerability with his tender mouth and a warm hand cupping her cheek. “I have you, darling. I’m right here. Oh, Crowley, I’m so sorry.” Crowley only realized she was crying when she felt the angel’s thumb brushing the tears away.

“I didn’t - I never meant to hurt you or make you think…” It was hard to look at him this close, to show everything that must be laid bare in her eyes, but Aziraphale’s expression was genuinely anguished when she hesitantly glanced up.

“Shut up,” the demon choked out. “Just touch me.”

Aziraphale seemed to take these instructions to heart, as all their clothes had disappeared before Crowley could finish taking her next breath. Ethereal lips smothered her faint gasp, and she pulled at Aziraphale’s shoulders, gripped her knees around his waist, hopeful that she was being given what she wanted without delay. Hopeful, until Crowley abruptly realized that Aziraphale had not made an effort.

“Are you fucking _kidding_ me,” she mumbled against the angel’s mouth.

“All in good time,” Aziraphale answered placidly.

There was literally nothing she could do to tempt or coax or convince Aziraphale to fuck her ahead of his own schedule when he’d rendered himself perfectly featureless between his legs, not an ounce of cock to be found. Crowley whined like a destitute kitten. “Come _on_.” She made her eyes big and sad. “I’m distraught.”

Aziraphale, the bastard, was not moved in the least. He kissed her collarbone as if they had all the time in the world. “Soon enough, my dear.”

Heaving a petulant sigh, Crowley decided to stage a protest through passive resistance: she let her arms and legs fall limp to the bed and left them there. “Don’t be childish,” Aziraphale murmured into the curve of her neck, but he seemed otherwise unperturbed by her dissenting sprawl.

“ _Me_ childish,” Crowley grumbled. She did, however, tilt her head to expose her throat. “You’re the one smooth as a baby’s bottom.”

Her complaints were neatly cut off by the reapplication of angelic fingers, and it took far less time or labor than she’d prefer to admit before she was a trembling wreck arching off the bed with a weak shout. Aziraphale, because he was insufferable, merely said, “There, I think that should keep you a little while.”

Crowley didn’t even have the mental cohesion to stammer more than a pathetic, “Keep _you_ a little while,” in between pants for breath. 

“Mm, quite.” With Crowley’s body now limp from pleasure rather than peevishness, Aziraphale seemed content to re-familiarize himself with it at his leisure. His hands molded to the humble curves of her hips, squeezing gently, while his mouth moved further down and - oh. Oh, that was rather alright, then. It had been many years since Crowley’d had a pair of tits; she’d forgotten how much she liked that.

“You are so beautiful, my dear,” Aziraphale, for some ridiculous reason, chose to quit doing what he was doing with his mouth in order to say. “In your other form as well, of course, but like this you are positively ravishing.”

“Stop it,” Crowley muttered feebly. Her heart felt sunburnt, sensitive as a raw nerve after so much time alone, so much time gnawed at by doubts and worries; even such simple words of praise felt nearly unbearable. She could feel her face going nearly the same color as her hair.

“But you are.” The angel buried his face against her stomach, sighing, and suddenly Crowley could see how all these years apart had weighed on him too. There was a tiredness and relief in the slump of his shoulders, a need for solace in how he leaned into what meager softness Crowley had to give. “You are the loveliest thing,” Aziraphale said quietly, and the demon’s throat grew tight as she reluctantly allowed herself to believe that he had missed her the same way she had missed him.

“Come here,” Crowley whispered. Her fingers tunneled through Aziraphale’s hair, cupped the back of his head and tugged carefully. “Please.”

The angel gave her a look that said he’d intended to do this _properly_ ; she gave him one back that said _proper_ could be done later. It had been so long.

Aziraphale shuddered a little as he drew in a breath, but he didn’t put up any more arguments. He slid back on top of her, where Crowley welcomed him with her hands framing his face, her thighs clinging to his hips, and her head lifting to almost feverishly catch his mouth with her own. There, Aziraphale was there, all of his warm skin pressing down against her with exquisite heaviness, grounding her to the earth, kissing her like the sweep of his tongue could not only burn the doubts into ash but cauterize them into never reproducing again.

He swallowed the whimpering cry that broke out of Crowley’s throat when all at once he was inside her.

“Angel,” she sobbed, a pair of tears slipping from her eyes.

“Crowley,” the angel breathed back. His voice was as threadbare and damp as her own, his fingers indescribably tender as they sank into her hair, cradling the back of her head.

It was easier than breathing, the way they moved together, and they remembered how as if the last time had been yesterday, rather than one-hundred and six years ago. Crowley closed her eyes and sighed as the urgency drained away, as the world itself fell away and there was nothing but this, the two of them crossing the divide between Heaven and Hell.

Crowley would mock the very concept of sanctity if it weren’t for this, the holiness they made together from the religion of their bodies and hearts and hands. This, Aziraphale’s hot breath against her throat, Crowley’s nails digging into his back, this was sacred.

They let it go for hours, darkness gathering around while they made up for lost time. When it was pitch black, Aziraphale lit his halo up like a candle, making Crowley throw her head back and laugh despite the impending (dozenth-or-so) climax curling her toes. 

“You’re such - an idiot,” the demon gasped, smiling and glowing with more than halo-light.

Aziraphale grinned back down at her, but seemed to care less about making a retort than gazing across the golden-illuminated planes of Crowley’s face. The warmth shining in his eyes was enough to shove her across the edge again.

Morning arrived to find the pair of them lying together in peace, like trees that had grown entwined, curled around each other in knots that could not be untied without destroying them both. They spoke softly now and then, and let long minutes of silence pass where they did nothing but hold on to each other.

Aziraphale ran his fingers through Crowley’s hair as far as his arm could reach, chuckling quietly when that still wasn’t far enough. “And I thought it was long in Babel,” the angel murmured. He drew a handful over her shoulder to watch the silky locks glide through and tangle around his fingers like liquid fire.

“Mm. Thought I might need to strangle you with it.” The demon’s yellow eyes cracked open, sardonic yet tender in the half-light. 

Aziraphale gave a titter of amusement, only to somber; Crowley could easily read both guilt and deliberation in the furrow of his brows. She nearly apologized, but knew well enough to wait for whatever Aziraphale was going to say.

“This - arrangement that you described.” 

Crowley squinted; it took her several moments to realize Aziraphale meant back when they had both been knights. 

_Oh_. She managed not to leap up, to betray the hope that surged through her corporation’s blood, even if she couldn’t hide the hard thump her heart gave against the angel’s chest. 

“Yes,” Crowley said carefully. 

“You really think -” Aziraphale took a deep breath, and fretfully twisted Crowley’s hair between his fingers. “You really think they’ll buy it? That we could - get away with it?”

The demon swallowed. In absolute, purest candor, she _didn’t_ know if Aziraphale could manage holding together a carefully-rehearsed string of lies to his superiors’ faces, if he could sell a story so close to fact yet such a blatant deception without giving it all away. 

But the perfect bastard had given his sword away in the very beginning, he had that potential for calculated rebellion within him.

“The best lies are the ones built around truth,” Crowley pointed out, and yes, she might be using a little of her most convincing voice, but it wasn’t as though she hadn’t been turning this over in her mind for the past century. “If anyone ever catches us, our alibis will be well-established. Hell might even give me a commendation for having the pluck and ambition to set my sights on seducing an angel.”

Crowley rolled her eyes, but privately delighted in what wicked irony that would be.

“Well yes,” Aziraphale allowed with a sigh. “But my superiors-”

“All you have to do is tell them an… augmented version of the truth.” Crowley’s broad, red mouth curved up devilishly. “The demon Crowley _is_ trying to seduce you, and you _are_ interested in playing along to turn the situation to your advantage. Just pass along bits of information that I feed you, prove that you’ve righteously thwarted me now and then, and that will be enough to convince them the subterfuge is worthwhile.”

The angel bit his lip, and didn’t immediately reject her proposal. Which, in Aziraphale’s lexicon, was as sure as an agreement.

With a force of will, Crowley did not allow the thrill of victory to gleam in her eyes.

“I - I will consider it,” Aziraphale finally conceded. That, Crowley knew, meant he would fuss and quibble for a few more years before finally giving in the way he’d wanted to from the start. “But please, my dear, _do_ refrain from eating any more knights.”

Crowley arched one brow and smirked slowly. 

Aziraphale went pink. “I mean-”

“I promise,” the demon purred, and slithered on top of her angel. She kissed down Aziraphale’s chest, his stomach, her yellow eyes gleaming up from beneath her lashes and her hair spilling across his spread thighs like rivers of molten lava. “I will only eat knights who _want_ to be eaten.”

**Author's Note:**

> Endless gratitude to [pathsofpassion](/users/pathsofpassion) for her invaluable help and existence.


End file.
